But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.

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Blood still clung to his maw. Stuck in between his canines, gummed up in the narrows between his yellowed fangs. Dashed across his chest. Baal hadn’t cared to clean it; the carcass remained sprawled out on the peak of a subtle, sandy slope littered with boulders, a coyote splayed open like dissection gone awry. He intended to finish eating his share later, but the desire for water had him on his feet, drifting. The events from the past few days had gathered like a swarm to invade every corner of his mind.

Images of @Zella pinned to the ground. Taken by a male that was not him. Ripped of her pride and used like a common whore. It nearly robbed him of his meal. Bile rising to the surface. Threatening to decorate the black sands with digested flesh.

Baal held it all back. Stopping at the nearest recession in the ground to consume mouthfuls of rain water. Clear of the salted taste held by the licking liquid of the tides.

Leaning back as the mineral-rich water suffused through him, Baal swallowed a few more times, red gleaming teeth catching the sunlight. His tongue lashed from his maw and swiped his nose, heightening his sense of smell, and he inhaled; but nothing caught his interest besides the slow staling of the body behind him, occasionally tickled by the churning wind. He lingered there at the foot of the hill, watching, wondering briefly what may be out there; but ultimately, imagination was worthless. Who cared what might be out there. Baal’s only concerns were with what were. No longer concerning himself with the prowls of Zella. Though, he’d be lying to himself if

A grunt pushed from his chest before Ba’al rose and climbed the hill, returning to the side of his coyote. There, he reclined onto his stomach and began to chew on one of the animal’s long, slender hind legs, his mind not drifting, not stagnating; simply blank. It was better that way, lest he rile himself up.
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Where waves stretched up the dark shoreline, Tavra spotted a pair of alabaster gulls follow them in their retreat. As the water withdrew, the seabirds pecked at whatever might be left behind: shellfish or little crustaceans, perhaps. She paused to observe, even considered moving in to investigate or pick a morsel for herself, but she decided against getting her paws wet.

She veered away after a time, and moved deeper inland. There was something unsettling about the terrain, not only for its unusual charcoal shades but for the way it looked so barren. Tavra's ears swivelled, constantly on alert, until the scent if blood made her nostrils flared. She lifted her head to examine the rugged cliffsides, and what she saw made her hackles lift.

A male. Large, with furs of raven and beige, and with blood smeared across his jaw and chest from the carcass he fed from. From where she stood she could see the lifeless eyes if another canid, and her features twisted into a scowl of disgust. Tavra did not linger to observe for long. She huffed a breath and pressed on, hopeful that the brute hadn't noticed her.


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